


Geometric

by aggiepuff



Series: Soulmate Singles [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cultural Differences, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Robb Stark is a Gift, Tattoo Sharing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:26:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26228659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aggiepuff/pseuds/aggiepuff
Summary: “I cannot believe you talked me into this,” Rhaenys hisses, eyeing the large Pentoshi tattoo artist as he readies his tools. It’s not the act of getting a tattoo that frightens her. She has a Pinterest board full of ideas, but she always imagined she and her Soulmate would pick out the design together, that they would take turns sitting for the art that would adorn both their skins.Then the fucker didn't even have the decency to wait for them to meet.
Relationships: Robb Stark/Rhaenys Targaryen (Daughter of Elia)
Series: Soulmate Singles [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1882498
Comments: 10
Kudos: 37





	Geometric

Rhaenys shifts uncomfortably in the parlor chair, scowling. 

Sarella pokes her side. “Stop fidgeting.”

“I cannot believe you talked me into this,” Rhaenys hisses, eyeing the large Pentoshi tattoo artist as he readies his tools. It’s not the act of getting a tattoo that frightens her. She has a Pinterest board full of ideas, but she always imagined she and her Soulmate would pick out the design together, that they would take turns sitting for the art that would adorn both their skins. 

Then the fucker didn't even have the decency to wait for them to meet. Instead, the day they turned eighteen - thank you shared Soulmate birthdays - he went and got his own tattoo: a [ howling wolf ](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/1d/b8/2f/1db82fb4d8b7846ce26f7cdf2b98aae0.jpg) done in a geometric design that reminds her of stained glass without the color. It's the size of her spread hand on her ribs and she really does like it but she could kill him for his rudeness. 

“I’m telling you,” Sarella says, scooting closer, “your Soulmate is from The North. It’s not rude in The North and wolves are a really popular tattoo choice.”

“We are Dornish,” Rhaenys grumbles but she holds out her arm, palm up, as the artist settles into his chair, “and I know exactly who you think my Soulmate is and you could not be more wrong.”

Sarella’s smile is bright against her black skin. “You’ll see I’m right when you’re done.”

Rhaenys rolls her eyes but barely flinches when the tattoo needle starts up with a high pitched buzz. Half an hour later the artist is done and she has a [ solid black sun ](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/54/08/7d/54087d996eb44789450f6541f192e428.jpg) on her right wrist. It’s small, the only size she can convince herself to get, and she likes it but it still feels so... _rude._ Tattoos are supposed to be a mutual decision. Soulmates aren't supposed to just unilaterally decide what they both have inked onto their skin - and yet here she is.

Sarella, who has been watching social media like a hawk, jumps to her feet with a wild cheer. “Yes!” She dances around the open space in front of Rhaenys’ chair, cheering and laughing. 

The artist eyes her and Rhaenys smiles apologetically. “Sorry about her.” She grabs Sarella’s arm, dragging her to the cashier then out onto the street. “What's got you flipping out?” she demands, walking towards her car. 

Sarella shoves her phone under Rhaenys’ nose with a triumphant grin. “Told you!” she crows. 

Rhaenys takes the phone before Sarella can hit her on the nose and holds it away so she can actually see the screen. Instagram is open and Sarella seems to have been watching an interview with Robb Stark, something about his new fantasy fairytale romance movie. The sound is turned off but he keeps shaking his right wrist and itching at it. When the cuff of his blue shirt shifts she can barely see the black outline of what _might_ be a sun.

“This was a live interview when you were getting your tattoo,” Sarella says, bouncing to Rhaenys’ side to peer at the phone. She points to the hint of black on the screen. “See? Your Soulmate getting a tattoo itches like crazy, remember? And that’s totally what’s happening right there!”

“Gods,” she groans, shoving the phone back at Sarella and climbing into her car, “how are you in med school?”

“Don’t even start,” Sarella retorts, getting in on the passenger side. “Don’t think I don’t know your new tattoo is, like, three different references. First, the sun for House Martell and Sunspear, then if that isn’t the _Tangled_ sun I’ll eat my hat-”

“You’re not wearing a hat,” Rhaeny points out mildly as she pulls into traffic.

Sarella rolls her eyes. “Don’t interrupt me. As I was saying, totally a _Tangled_ reference. And thirdly, it’s black which is for _Avatar_ and ‘The Day of Black Sun.’ Don’t tell me I'm wrong.”

Rhaenys grins. Sarella is very much not wrong. If Rhaenys was going to get a tattoo, it would obviously serve more than one purpose. Still, the one purpose it won't serve is proving Robb Stark is her Soulmate.

“Look,” she sighs, “I appreciate the vote of confidence, that you think Robb friggin Stark is my Soulmate, but let’s not forget the guy is a movie star _y soy_ _una_ Dornish language _profesora en una escuela secundaria de mierda en_ Flea Bottom.”

_"¿También eres, qué,_ fifth in line _para el trono de Dorne?_ "

"I signed the abdication papers three years ago," Rhaenys reminds her cousin who, being technically a bastard, doesn't really pay attention to the line of succession. "Aegon is fifth in line."

Sarella rolls her eyes. "Puh-lease. You're still, technically, _una princesa de Dorne_ \- not to mention _la línea de sangre de tu padre_."

Rhaenys ignores Sarella. Given a choice, she doesn't think about her philandering father if she can help it. Not since her mother divorced him upon discovering his affair with a young college student who hadn't even known he was married. 

What Rhaenys prefers to remember is how her mother stuck it to the jackass and ensured the poor girl he seduced and then planned to abandon upon learning of her pregnancy got oodles and oodles of money from him as part of the divorce settlement. He was also exiled from Dorne - _gracias Tio Oberyn y Tio Doran -_ and Rhaenys hasn't spoken to him since she was thirteen. She certainly doesn't claim any royal Targaryen dynasty through him; she even changed her name to Martell on her eighteenth birthday.

All of this Sarella knows which means she can only have brought it up in a misguided attempt at cheering Rhaenys up.

Sarella sighs but her voice is much gentler when she says, “You’re awesome and you know it.”

Rhaenys nods, flipping her hair. “Of course I'm awesome. Doesn't mean I'm wrong, though.”

* * *

Rhaenys runs a hand over her new tattoo. It’s healing nicely and her students went nuts when they saw it. They immediately started asking why she chose a sun. 

She had to remind them to ask their questions in Dornish which started a whole other tangent with her having to explain Soulmate customs in Dorne. When they heard that the Dornish send each other messages using special ink, they asked if she had ever received a message.

Unfortunately, Rhaenys has not received a message. She's never received a message, not even when she wrote to them in every language she can think of, scrawling words across her forearms in an attempt at communication.

_Tonto._

She flops back onto the couch, slinging her arm over her eyes. 

Tyene and Sarella, who both travel extensively, say that it's likely that where her Soulmate is from it's not customary to write to your Mate. Rhaenys thinks that's rather stupid but she knows Dorne is a little different from the rest of Westeros. Tyene once told her that Soul-Pens aren't even available outside of Dorne and certain parts of the Orange Coast.

Still, it's not like online shopping isn't a thing. How hard is it to order a Soul-Pen so you can write to your Soulmate?

The whole situation leaves a sour taste in Rhaenys' mouth and a dejected lump in her chest.

"Hey, hey!"

A pillow thwacks into her face. "Hey!" Rhaenys shoots up, grabbing the pillow and glaring around for her attacker.

Nymeria beams down at her. Like Sarella, Nymeria is one of her many cousins, her skin a lovely gold-bronze to her half-sister Sarella's deep brown. She's several years older than Rhaenys, one of _Tio_ Oberyn’s many daughters, with a very lucrative job in public relations that allows her to indulge her love of nice clothes and fancy cars. She also doesn't actually live with Rhaenys and shouldn't be sweeping into Rhaenys' house at 11 in the morning on a Saturday.

"That key is for emergencies," Rhaenys informs her cousin, "not so you can hit me with a pillow whenever you want."

Nymeria ignores her. “Get up, get dressed. We’re going out.”

Rhaenys flops back onto the couch. “Um, no.”

Nymeria grabs her arm, dragging her back up. “Um, yes. Come on. Up up up!”

_"¿Por que?"_

Nymeria sighs, affecting a put-upon air that makes Rhaenys secretly pleased; she enjoys riling up her cousin. "I have a party tonight," she explains, "and you're going to be my plus one. So, get up. We're having a spa day."

It's very hard to say no to Nymeria, especially when she gets an idea in her head. That's how Rhaenys finds herself sitting in a chair at Nymeria's favorite luxury spa, submitting herself to a manicure, pedicure and eyebrow wax before being dragged back to Nymeria's house. With rhythmic reggaetón playing from the speakers and feeling refreshed, Rhaenys finds herself dancing around Nymeria's living room while her cousins sorts through the numerous cocktail dresses in her closet.

Finally, she produces a [ deep blue dress ](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/c5/a7/10/c5a710d0dfbbe52c431a9c73a80919de.jpg) with a high collar rimmed in clear crystals. She shoved it at Rhaenys. "Try this on."

With a put upon sigh, Rhaenys takes the dress and retreats to the bathroom, stripping out of her t-shirt, tank top and leggings. The dress is soft and slightly stretchy, sliding easily over her curves. She's just pulling up the zipper when she notices the shear diamond cutouts on either side of her waist. She scowls. The dress, being sleeveless, already shows off her black sun. She does not like that she can see part of her geometric wolf along her left ribs as well.

Rhaenys returns to the living room. "No," she says, pointing to her side and the exposed tattoo.

Nymeria, being Nymeria, ignores her. "I knew that dress would look good on you." She throws a house robe at her. "Put this on while you do your makeup."

"I feel like a hooker," Rhaenys grumbles, tugging nervously at the mesh cutouts.

Nymeria's head whips around, dark eyes narrowing dangerously. "Excuse me? You feel like a what in my dress?"

Rhaenys swallows. "I feel like a queen."

Nymeria huffs. "That's what I thought you said." She waves her hand in a shooting motion. " _Ve a maquillarte."_

With a sigh, Rhaenys obeys, returning to the bathroom and pulling out the bag of makeup essentials Nymeria insisted she bring. She opts for a classic look with silver smokey shadow to accentuate her dark purple eyes and pale pink lip gloss. Next she arranges her hair so it cascades down her back in gentle curls and fixes Nymeria’s diamond earrings in her ears.

Finished, she goes in search of Nymeria, finding her older cousin in her bedroom, putting on the final touches to her own makeup with red lipstick to match her off the shoulder, [ body-hugging dress ](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/9e/95/d7/9e95d735987db931a3d64a22463bb1bb.jpg) with ruching to accentuate the dip of her waist, diamonds swaying from her ears.

Seeing Rhaenys in the mirror, she points to a pair of spikey silver heels on the floor. "Put those on. The silver clutch on the bed is for you."

"Where are we going?" Rhaenys asks as she tucks her lip gloss, wallet, and phone inside the hard silver clutch. It has a nice long chain that she loops over her shoulder.

"Fundraiser at the Natural Science and History Museum."

Rhaenys instantly brightens. She loves the museum. "Really?"

Nymeria smiles at her, assembling her own purse. "Of course. I know how to cheer you up _, primita_." 

"How did you get tickets?" Rhaenys asks, following her out to the town car idling at the curb. The driver holds the door open and they slide in.

"My firm handled the event planning and publicity," Nymeria answers. “So, it’s a work event for me.”

“If it’s a work event for you,” Rhaenys says, “why did you invite me?”

The look Nymeria gives her is withering. " _You_ are going because you need to get out of the house before you make me cry."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Nymeria sighs, turning to face her, meeting her purple eyes with serious brown ones. "It means, _primita_ , that you have been moping around your house for a month and while I'm not going to pry and ask why, I am tired of seeing you so sad. So, we're doing something fun tonight."

Rhaenys bites her lip. Nymeria is not wrong. After getting her tattoo and then not getting a response, Rhaenys tried to pretend her Soulmate’s silence hadn’t bothered her - tried and failed miserably. Even her students can tell something is off. They’ve been strangely well behaved these last four weeks.

The town car rolls to a stop outside the imposing museum building with its tall columns and dome roof. Standing in the middle of the city, the large structure was built on the former site of the Sept of Baelor destroyed during the reign of Mad Queen Cersei. Made of marble, it towers over the surrounding buildings, with a sprawling lawn dotted with a variety of sculptures.

Rhaenys grew up in Dorne, in the lavish Sunspear palace where her family has ruled their princedom since before the Dragons conquered Westeros. Then, after The Fall, when Westeros broke back up to its separate kingdoms, The Martells maintained their control of Dorne, turning their kingdom into a prosperous trade center. Still, Dorne does not have the historical collection of King’s Landing’s museums and Rhaenys secretly prefers the Crownlands capital for that fact alone. 

The driver opens the door and Rhaenys slides out after Nymeria. Paparazzi flank the marble steps leading to the double front doors and their cameras flash. Rhaenys flinches, automatically holding up her clutch to hide her face. After the scandal with her parents she eschews a public life, avoiding anything that could land her in the tabloids. 

Nymeria loops her arm through Rhaenys’. “Come on,” she says, pulling her around the building. They enter through a side door and Rhaenys is grateful. Only the gods know what the tabloids would make of one of the last Targaryens attending a fundraiser for the Crownlands museum.

Once inside, the tension releases from her shoulders and she takes a moment to look around. Nymeria’s firm did an amazing job, red and gold banners hanging from the ceiling, sparkling light illuminating the main hall. Waiters in clean white shirts and black pants mingle with guests in cocktail attire, offering trays of wine and champagne and horderves. 

“I have to go check in with my boss,” Nymeria says. “Will you be okay without me for a minute?”

Rhaenys grins. “Will I be okay alone in my favorite place in the city?”

Nymeria rolls her eyes and flounces away, black curled ponytail swinging. Rhaenys shakes her head and, grabbing a glass of white wine from one of the waiters, heads into the first exhibit. 

As the evening is just starting, not many people have made their way to the exhibit halls. Rhaenys bypasses the wildlife photography exhibit - she looked at it two weeks ago and there's about 5 too many dead animal pictures for her taste - and heads for the gemstone carving exhibit.

She leans down to examine a [ carved lemur ](https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn%3AANd9GcSv_wL9OTB_5UTySyvbOeeHzK421Adx24ZBaA&usqp=CAU) made of some tan-brown stone. It is all one piece of stone with beautiful detail from the large eyes and tiny hands to the fur. She would always be amazed by the ability of artists. 

The next piece is striped brown and white, carved in the shape of an [ antelope ](https://www.crystalclassics.co.uk/Uploads/Image/Articles/Van%20pelt%20exhibit%202010/DSC03875.jpg). The plack says the stone is agate and the graceful curve of the antelope's neck creates a drinking vessel, the nose capped with gold. The artist of the lemur and the antelope is Harold Van Pelt.

"Beautiful," she breaths.

"I've always wondered how they manage the details," a new voice says.

Rhaenys almost jumps out of her skin. Quickly she straightens, spinning on her spikey heels.

A man stands behind her, hair made dark by the low light of the exhibit. He smiles at her, corners of his blue eyes crinkling. He is a very handsome man. An artful shadow darkens his strong jaw, accentuating a plush mouth. "Sorry," he says in a gentle northern burr, "didn't mean to startle you."

Heat flares on her cheeks. "No, it's alright. I wasn't paying attention." She licks her lips nervously. A fluttering fills her stomach and she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.

The man blinks then, as if suddenly remembering his manners, his smile turns sheepish and he offers his hand. “Robb Stark.”

_¡Mierda!_

The heat spreads from her cheeks down to her neck and she takes his hand. “Rhaenys Martell. Nice to meet you.”

Robb’s bright blue eyes flick down to their hands - and he stops. Still gripping her tight, he turns her hand over so her wrist faces the ceiling. 

Rhaenys shifts awkwardly, eyeing the movie star as he stares at her wrist. Finally, he says in a voice tight with some unknown emotion, “Nice tattoo.”

“Um, thanks?”

Robb looks back up at her. “When did you get it?”

"About a month ago." Rhaenys tugs gently, trying to retrieve her hand, but he doesn’t let go. “Why?’

Robb’s smile is like sunshine. He beams at her, turning her hand over so his wrist is up and he pulls his sleeve back. On his pale skin is a black sun, identical hers. “This showed up a month ago.”

Rhaenys’ mouth drops. Her eyes skip between her wrist, his wrist, his face, and back. _Robb fucking Stark?_

Suddenly an old familiar anger sparks to life in her chest. Without thinking, she grabs his bicep. 

“What the-?”

Paying no mind to his feeble protests, she marches back out the exhibit, across the main exhibit hall and towards the bathroom tucked inconspicuously into the corner. She yanks the door open and drags Robb Stark into the women’s restroom. 

A woman in her thirties stands in front of the mirror reapplying her lipstick. Rhaenys’ eyes narrow at her. “Out.”

The command, issued in Rhaenys’ most terrifying Princess-turned-high-school-teacher voice, causes the other woman to jump like a startled rabbit then scuttle from restroom, not daring to even glance over her shoulder. Rhaenys releases Robb and locks the door behind her before rounding on her Soulmate.

Robb stands in the middle of the restroom, eyes wide in bewilderment.

“You are very lucky I don’t hit you,” Rhaenys hisses, glowering at him.

“What _the hell_ did I do?” he demands. 

“You got a tattoo without asking me first!” Rhaenys whisper-shouts, mindful that the restroom is not soundproof.

“So did you!” 

Rhaenys bares her teeth. “I waited almost ten years to get a tattoo. You got one on our eighteenth birthday!”

Robb’s blue eyes flash dangerously. “Why are you so pissed? It’s what you do! I should be the one shouting! Do you know what it was like not getting anything ever?”

“Excuse you,” Rhaenys snarls, “I wrote until my hand cramped.”

Robb’s frown smooths slightly. “How did you do that, anyway?”

“Soul-Pens. How have you not heard of Soul-Pens?”

Robb shrugs. Then, he refocuses. “Look,” he sighs, “in The North, getting a tattoo on your eighteenth birthday, it’s a big deal.” His eyes darken, blue eyes turning sad. “You’re supposed to get a tattoo at the same time as your Soulmate. If you get a tattoo in the same place then you’re a perfect match.” He pauses then swallows hard. For a moment he looks pitiful, like a young boy or kicked puppy. “I designed the wolf myself.”

That look feels a little like being punched in the gut. The fire of Rhaenys’ anger is extinguished in one instant as if doused in icy water. “I love the wolf,” she hears herself admitting out loud for the first time. 

Robb instantly brightens. “Yeah?”

Rhaenys can’t help the smile that spreads across her face. “Yeah. I had it traced and I’ve been fiddling with the idea of adding color? It reminds me of stained glass.”

Robb steps closer. The gentle fluttering in Rhaenys’ stomach increases to a frenzy. He’s a good 5 inches taller than her. His hand comes up and his attention flicks down to her waist. Gently, his fingers trace the lines of her wolf through the mesh on her dress. 

A shiver races down her spine and she swallows hard. Unconsciously, she shifts her weight towards his touch. Robb’s eyes flick back up to her. His hand reflexively flexes on her waist and tightens. 

“I like the sun,” he says gently. “What does it mean to you?”

Rhaenys breathes in deep, taking in the heady, masculine scent of his cologne. “Family,” she whispers, “sunshine. It makes me smile.”

“It makes me smile, too,” Robb replies, voice dipping low. His husky voice drags across her skin, sending another shiver through her bones. 

“What about the wolf?” Rhaenys is grateful her voice doesn't shake. 

“Family,” he parrots. “My family’s sigil is a direwolf.”

“House Stark?” Rhaenys asks, memories of her governess droning on and on about the history of the Great Houses swimming to the surface.

Robb’s eyes sparkle. “Are you a fan, Sunshine? Been stalking me?”

Rhaenys snorts. “Sunshine?”

His hand finds her wrist, thumb stroking over the black sun inked on her skin. “Yeah, Sunshine." He leans closer, earnest blue eyes meeting her gaze steadily. " _Tu eres mi Sol."_

Her stomach swoops and she can’t help but smile, heat blooming across her cheeks again “You know Dornish?”

Robb shrugs. "It was the first language you wrote to me in. I figured it must be your first."

_How is he real?_

Rhaenys steps toward him, unable to look away from him. His hand shifts from her waist to curl around her back, pulling her even closer. Her hands instinctively come up to rest on his chest. His free hand follows, resting gently on her wrist, thumb still stroking the black sun. 

“Now,” he says, quirking an eyebrow, “tell me how you know about House Stark.”

Rhaenys bites her lip. She doesn’t really tell anyone about her pedigree. She lives an incognito life in King’s Landing, thankful her mother ensured the tabloids never got her picture after she turned thirteen. Still, if she can’t tell her Soulmate, who can she tell?

“It’s in my name,” she says. “Rhaenys, for my ancestress, Queen Rhaenys Targaryen, and House Martell, for my mother’s family.”

Robb blinks at her, then realization dawns. “My Soulmate is a Princess.” 

“Please, don’t-”

“Princess Sunshine,” Robb laughs. 

“Hey, now,” she protests but a giggle bubbles from her lips. She doesn’t laugh at her situation very often but it feels right, somehow, standing in the middle of a woman’s restroom - 

“ _¡Ay no!_ ” she sighs.

Robb frowns. "What is it?"

"We're in the women's restroom."

He looks around, as if noticing their locations for the first time. He takes in the metal stalls, marble countertop and porcelain sink. "Really? I was so busy looking at you I didn't even notice.

Rhaenys rolls her eyes. "Are you always like this?" She takes a step away.

Robb squeezes her waist but after a moment lets her go. He does not release her hand however. "Am I always like what?"

"Ridiculous," Rhaenys retorts. Squeezing his hand firmly with her own, she leads him back out into the main exhibit hall. Thankfully no one seems to notice them both leave the women's restroom.

Robb follows her obediently, seeming content to follow her through the museum. "I'll have you know that I am charm incarnate."

A flash of red and the sparkle of gold and diamond earrings catch Rhaenys' eye. "Here's your chance to prove it."

"What-?"

"Rhaenys," Nymeria cries, striding towards them, "there you are. I was looking all over for you and you weren't answering your phone." She catches sight of Robb standing next to Rhaenys and though her smile doesn't falter it does turn slightly stuff at the edges. "Who is your friend, Rhae?"

Rhaenys sighs. "Robb, meet my cousin Nymeria. Nym, meet my Soulmate, Robb Stark."

Nymeria, it must be said, is not caught off guard very often. She stills for a fraction of a second then a beaming smile spreads across her face. "Obara owes me and Sarella ten crowns each."

Rhaenys' jaw drops. "Are you serious?" She demands.

Nymeria nods happily, stretching out her hand for Robb to shake. "Of course. Sari convinced me with that interview last month."

Robb's eyebrows rise. "The interview? You mean when I got my tattoo?" He holds up his hand, showing off the black sun on his right wrist.

"Yep." Nymeria pops the 'p' sound like she's chewing bubblegum. "I wasn't totally convinced before but that sealed it. You kept itching your wrist."

Robb turns on Rhaenys. "So you knew I was your Soulmate?"

"Of course not," Rhaenys sighs, "but my other cousin Sarella has been insisting it was you for two years, ever since she did this whole tour of Westeros thing."

Nymeria dug her phone out from her tiny clutch. "I have to call her."

Rhaenys snatches her phone out of her hands, quick as a snake. "Don't you dare."

"You don't want to tell people about us?" Robb asks over Nymeria's babbled protests.

Rhaenys ignores Nymeria, turning to Robb. "Of course I do, but not tonight."

" _¿Por que no?_ "

"Ooh," Nymeria croons, momentarily distracted, "he knows Dornish."

"Nym, if you could give us a minute?"

Nymeria looks between the two. "Alright, _pero yo necesito mi celular de vuelta._ "

Rhaenys levels Nymeria with her sternest gaze. "Do you swear on your namesake's memory that you won't tell a single living person that I met my Soulmate."

Nymeria promptly rolls her eyes. "I solemnly swear." She holds out her hand. "My phone?"

Rhaenys hesitates for a moment, but Nymeria swore on the name of Queen Nymeria of the Rhoyne. That is an oath she will never break. Reluctantly, Rhaenys hands back the phone. Nymeria slips it back into her clutch. Her dark eyes, bright in her gold face, meet Rhaenys' gaze in a brief moment of solemnity. "I'll be nearby if you need me." Then, she turns on her heel and flounces off, curled ponytail bouncing cheerfully.

Rhaenys turns to Robb once she is sure she is out of hearing range. He looks at her with serious blue eyes, waiting. She takes a deep breath. "I am excited to have met you," she begins.

Robb's face cracks in a tiny smile. "That sounds like goodbye," he jokes.

Rhaenys shakes her head vehemently. "No, no, that's not what this is." She licks her lips nervously, trying to find the best way to express herself. "My parents are Soulmates," she says. "They met when they were young and got married and had me, but then, well, my dad isn't a very good man. He's not even a very nice man. And he, uh, he cheated on my mom."

Robb winces in sympathy. "I'm sorry."

Rhaenys shrugs, force of a smile. "It's alright. It was when I was really little and they got divorced when I was five. I haven't seen him since I was thirteen and he wasn't that great of a dad even when my parents were married. Anyway, they got married really young, before they had a strong foundation, you know?"

Robb nods, encouraging. His warm hand squeezes hers gently.

"And they were both celebrity adjacent. My mom is a Princess of Dorne and my dad is one of the last Targaryens. There was always a lot of publicity about their relationship which just made it worse, I think."

"And I'm an actor?" Robb suggests.

Rhaenys nods. "Yes, exactly. You're an actor and in the spotlight. But I want to get to know you without the publicity. I want us to build something away from public scrutiny."

"We can do that," Robb says.

Relief wells in Rhaenys' chest. "Really? You don't mind not telling anyone for a while?"

Slowly, carefully, in the shadowed corner of the Crownlands museum, Robb Stark draws Rhaenys Martell into his arms. "Really," he whispers and kisses her.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Spanish Translations**  
>  _gracias Tio Oberyn y Tio Doran_ \- Thank you, Uncle Oberyn and Uncle Doran  
>  _¿También eres, qué,_ fifth in line _para el trono de Dorne?_ \- You're also, what, fifth in line for the Dornish throne?  
>  _y soy una_ Dornish language _profesora en una escuela secundaria de mierda en_ Flea Bottom - and I am a Dornish language teacher at a crappy ass high school in Flea Bottom  
>  _una princesa de Dorne_ \- a princess of Dorne  
>  _la línea de sangre de tu padre_ \- your father’s bloodline  
>  _Tonto_ \- idiot  
>  _Tio_ \- uncle  
>  _¿Por que?_ \- Why?  
>  _Ve a maquillarte_ \- Go do your makeup  
>  _Primita_ \- little cousin (female)  
>  _¡Mierda!_ \- Holy shit  
>  _Tu eres mi Sol_ \- You are my Sunshine  
>  _¡Ay no!_ \- Oh no¡  
>  _¿Por que no?_ \- Why not?  
>  _pero yo necesito mi celular de vuelta_ \- I need my cellphone back


End file.
